


What about your history?

by TashaRomanovna



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-10-14
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaRomanovna/pseuds/TashaRomanovna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Natasha tells Clint about her time in the Red Room-and her time with a man she only ever knew as James</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This whole story is based of a series of prompts from alloftheprompts.tumblr.com

“Tasha, tell me a story?” Clint coughed as Natasha placed a steaming cup of tea on the night stand. She crawled into bed next to him, and he laid his head in her lap. “I can’t keep staring at the wall. Being sick sucks.”

Natasha began to play with his hair. “What story do you want to hear?”

“I dunno. What about your history with Barnes?”

Her fingers stilled. “Why do you want to hear about that?”

“Cause, it’ll probably be boring enough for me to fall asleep. What, you two go around murdering people for awhile, kiss a little here and there. Can’t be that exciting.”

She resumed running her fingers through Clint’s hair. “Well, you asked for it. The whole bloody truth of it.”

Natasha cleared her throat and began her tale.

————————————————

The Red Room girls grew up terrified of the Winter Soldier. Their handlers would tell them stories about his assassinations, praise his ruthless efficiency. He was to be an example to the young girls of how they should be when they grew up.

So when twenty eight fifteen year old girls entered the training room, they all stared wide eyed at the Winter Soldier. He stood in the center of the room, a blank expression in his eyes. His mouth had been covered with a mask. Ivan stepped forward and kept a few feet away from the assassin.

“The Winter Soldier is here to evaluate you girls. The normal sparring rules will be observed. Now, begin!” Ivan motioned to one of the girls to come forward. He took her place in line.

The girl wore her black hair in a ponytail. Her bare feet padded on the concrete floor. She took her place opposite the Soldier, putting her fists up in front of her and sinking into a ready stance.

Their fight didn’t last long. She walked away with a broken arm from landing to hard on the concrete. Meanwhile, he just stood motionless, observing.

Three more walked away injured before Ivan pulled Natasha close to him. “Do not disappoint me, Natalia.” He whispered, then pushed her into the center of the floor.

Natasha’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the man in front of her. He hadn’t been fighting with his metal arm. Which, according to the reports she’d read, mean he didn’t intend to kill.

His mistake.

Her whole life, Natasha had been trained to kill, to never take it easy on someone.

“You’re still like that, you know. You don’t take it easy on me when we spar together.” Clint interrupted.

“The whole point of training is to get better.” Natasha replied. Clint just sniffed; Natasha handed him a tissue.

Keeping to the balls of her feet, Natasha circled the older assassin. He followed her with his eyes. Those blank eyes…

She struck, dropping to the ground and sweeping her legs around to try and trip him up. He jumped, fully intending to land with his right fist to her side. Natasha rolled underneath him, springing up from the ground. She used her momentum to send her upright hand into his back. The Winter Soldier stumbled. His eyes went wide, because how could this girl catch him in a spilt second of vulnerability?

He whirled, anger flashing in his eyes. Natasha threw a punch at him. He blocked it, then threw punches of his own. Both of them weaved around each other, and both landed hits. Natasha managed to incorporate some of the aerial moves they’d been learning, knowing she absolutely had to prove she could handle them.

Shaking loose strands of hair from her face, Natasha aimed one last kick at the Soldier. He stopped it from connecting with his chest with his metal arm. The shock of the blow vibrated up Natasha’s leg, throwing her off balance. She collapsed onto the floor. Swallowing, she stood up and tried not to limp back into line.

Natasha glanced at Ivan as the next girl went up. Ivan nodded at her, and she returned her gaze to the sparring matches.

———————————

Ivan strode through the medical ward, glancing at the nurses as he passed. Natasha lay in one of the cots. Doctors were inspecting her leg, which had been shattered in two places. Many of the Red Room girls were laying in cots as doctors prodded the various sprained and broken limbs.

He stopped at the foot of Natasha’s bed. “Well done, Natalia. You’ve been selected to undergo training with the Winter Soldier.”

Natasha nodded and tried not to grimace in pain as one of the doctors poked her leg. “When does training start?”

“Not until you’ve healed.”

———————————

Clint started to cough. Natasha handed him her glass of water. He drank it gratefully, wiping water from his upper lip as he lowered the glass.

“So what happened next?” He turned to her, tears in his eyes from his coughing fit.

“I let my leg heal, then I trained under James. Really, he just taught me how to perfect the art of assassinating people.” Natasha smiled at how ridiculous the sentence sounded. “Although, there is one lesson that’s always stuck out to me.”

Clint rested his head in her lap again. “Go on.”

—————————————

“Natalia!” The Winter Soldier barked as he walked into the training room. Natasha immediately came out of her pirouette. She stared at him.

“What’s wrong with a little practice? What if I need to be a ballet dance for a cover?”

“And what if you’re surrounded by armed men?” He countered, flipping his knife in his hand.

“It’s valuable to learn both skills.”

“We’re assassins. We have to be perfect at what we do.”

“Being perfect at everything is what we do.”

James suddenly threw the knife at Natasha. She caught it without so much as blinking.

“I’m here to teach you how to be a perfect assassin. Let the others teach you how to be a perfect spy.”

Natasha wordlessly stepped forward and handed him his knife back.

“You can’t ever escape this line of work, Natalia. I know you and every other girl has dreamed about it. But living your life as an assassin? It’s part of that reality you need to focus on.”


	2. Flaws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flaws are punishable in the Red Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had this song in mind while writing: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WDoU-gE2AXA

“Tell me Natalia, what are your flaws?” James asked one day after training. Natasha sat cross-legged on the floor, polishing her knives. 

“I don’t have any.” 

“Is that what they teach you?”

“Everybody has flaws; everybody but us. It’s like I told you last week. We have to be perfect.” She set the knife in her hand down and picked up another one. James leaned against the wall. 

“Why do you want to know the answer to that question anyway?” Natasha asked. She looked up at him. 

He shrugged. “I’m your trainer now. It’s not like they handed me a file on your life story.” 

Natasha stood up and gestured to the training room. “This has been my whole life.” She walked closer to him. “And trust me, any flaws I once had have long disappeared.” 

James nodded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

_Clint’s stomach growled. He looked up at Natasha._

_“Want to get me something for lunch?” He smiled pleadingly._

_She rolled her eyes and smiled back._

_“What do you want?”_    
_“I’m pretty sure there’s some leftover pizza in the fridge.”_

 _“And if Sam ate it all?”_

_“Tell him I’ll kill him. And I’ll live with leftover mac and cheese.” Clint sat up and sipped his tea._

_Natasha rolled off the bed and stretched her arms above her head. “I’ll be right back.”_

_Clint rested his head against the mountain of pillows and closed his eyes._

_She returned some minutes later with a steaming bowl of mac and cheese. Clint cracked open an eye as she handed him the bowl._

_“Sam’s a dead man.”_

_“You know, you don’t sound very threatening when you say that with a stuffy nose.” Natasha said, settling back onto her side of the bed._

_“I’ll make up for it when I feel better.” Clint stirred his mac and cheese around. “Thanks, ‘Tasha.”_

_“You’re welcome, Clint.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek._  


“You exploit other’s flaws. That’s why you don’t have any.” James said the next day during training. Natasha threw her knife at the target and hit it dead center.

“It’s true we exploit other’s flaws. But that’s not the reason I don’t have any. I don’t have any so I can’t be exploited.” She replied, grabbing the knife out of the target. “What about you?” She turned and faced him. 

“Same as you. No such thing as a flaw in the Winter Soldier.” He flipped the knife in his hand. 

Natasha didn’t respond; she had resumed her place at the ten foot mark and threw her knife again. It landed in the center with a dull thud. 

——————————————

“Shoot him.” Mistress Boreveya said. Twenty seven girls stood in a line at the back of the room. One girl was standing in the center of the room, opposite a hooded man. His arms and feet had been tied to the chair. 

The girl held the gun in her hand and leveled it at the man. He was whispering in what sounded like Polish. 

The gunshot cracked like a thunderbolt. The man stopped whispering. Blood trickled down the hood from the head wound. 

“Bring in the next one.” Mistress Boreveya motioned to the guard stationed by the door. “Natalia, take the gun.” 

Natasha obeyed, taking the gun from the girl. Tatiana was her name. 

The guard brought in another man. He was hooded like the other one. Natasha assessed the captive. Most likely in his early thirties; a soldier caught in the war. She assumed he was Polish as well. She cocked her head, trying to decide if she should go for the head or the heart. Both would be a quick end.

Finally, the prisoner was tied to the chair. The guard returned to his position by the door. Taking a deep breath, Natasha aimed the gun at his head. Chest wounds were always messy. 

She fired and watched his chest stop moving without a trace of sadness in her eyes. 

Mistress Boreveya nodded in approval. 

————————————

“You keep staring at me.” James observed that afternoon. He threw a punch at Natasha, who ducked and tried to get his stomach. 

“We are in the middle of a sparring match.” She blocked his kick with one of her own.

“No, I mean, you’re staring at me like you’re trying to figure something out.”  
“Yeah, your next move.” 

James stopped mid-punch and straightened. “It’s almost like you’re trying to figure out what’s going through my head. And not just for a sparring match. You stare at me like that when you think I’m not looking.” 

Natasha pushed hair out of her eyes. “You’ve got a sadness behind your eyes.” 

“So do you and every other girl here. Remind me, how old are you?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“You’re good at reading emotions. But you’ve got a lot of room to improve.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Subtle way to change the topic.” 

“But it worked.” His mouth quirked up at the edges for a moment. “Part of what makes an assassin great is how well they can assess their target.”  “I can read body cues just fine.” 

“There’s always room to improve, Natalia. Don’t get arrogant.” 

Natasha pulled her hair out of its ponytail and gathered it up again. “I’m confident, Soldier.” 

“Perhaps you’re a little of both.” 

“I’m okay with that.” Natasha tightened her ponytail and exited the training room. 

—————————-

Natasha exhaled. She leapt across the stage, counting the beats of the piano in her head. Girls spun and twirled around her. As Natasha did her walk across the stage, she had to step around Tatiana. The girl had posed off her mark. 

The music stopped as Mistress Boreveya noticed the mistake. “Tatiana! Why did you miss your mark?” The girls had gathered around Tatiana in a silent semi circle. 

“I…I misjudged the distance, Mistress.” Tatiana clasped her hands in front of it. 

“There is no room for flaws in the Bolshoi. Nor is there room for nervousness.” Mistress Boreyeva walked to the edge of the stage and motioned for the girl to bend down. She obeyed, and the instructor slapped Tatiana across the face. The assembled girls started as the sound cracked across the room. 

“Do well to remember this, girls.” Mistress Boreyeva said as she returned to the piano.


	3. You took after him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha has to deal with a reminder of her past.

Natasha stood quietly as James finished tying up the spy. She’d been training under the Winter Soldier for the last three months, and he had requested that she accompany him on one of his missions. Both Ivan and Boreveya had agreed. 

James squatted in front of the terrified man and unholstered his handgun. 

_A Glock_ Natasha noted. She glanced out the window of the spy’s apartment. Snow had started to fall. 

“Now, I won’t make this too hard. Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll kill you quickly. If you don’t, well, I hear a bullet to the kneecaps does wonders for a man’s conversational skills.” 

The spy’s eyes widened, and he jerked against the chair. James took the gag out of the man’s mouth. 

“How long have you been selling secrets to the Americans?” James lazily inspected his gun. The spy looked first from the gun and then to Natasha. 

“You’ve been quiet.” His accent sounded almost Bulgarian. 

Natasha narrowed her eyes and remained silent. James waved the Glock in front of the spy’s face and cocked the safety. 

“I’ll ask again. How long have you been selling secrets to the Americans?” 

The spy swallowed. “You took after him, you know. Your father. You both have the same green eyes.” 

Natasha took a step forward. “My…father?” 

James sighed. He stood, stepped back, aimed, and fired at the spy’s right kneecap. The spy screamed in agony as the bullet found its mark. 

“One year. That’s…how long. He was…a coward…your father.” The spy panted. Blood trickled down his leg and pooled onto the floor. Natasha’s jaw clenched. James put his left arm out to hold her back.

“Who is your contact?” James pointed the gun at the spy’s left knee. 

“Some man…named Collins.” He gritted his teeth against the pain. 

“When will you see this man again?” James lowered the arm holding Natasha back. Her hands had fisted at her sides. 

“Next week…at the warehouse…by the theatre.” 

“Natalia.” James turned to her and handed her the handgun. “Finish the job.” 

She accepted the weapon. The weight felt comfortable in her hand. 

“He spoke of… you often.” 

“Придержи свой язык.” Natasha snapped, cocking the gun and aiming for his heart. She fired. 

———————————

“Don’t listen to his talk about your father.” James said as they traveled across the rooftops. Natasha brushed some snow off her gloves. 

“I won’t.” She replied in a clipped tone. 

_“Did you ever look for your parents?” Clint managed to ask around a mouthful of mac and cheese._

_“No. I’ve never seen the point.” Natasha said._

_“Who knows, maybe you’re the lost princess Anastasia.” Clint grinned._

_Natasha smacked his arm. “Oh please. She’s just as dead as the rest of them._

_“Hey! Don’t hit me; I’m sick. And I think you’d look good in a crown. Maybe I’ll get you one for your birthday.”_

_”Just listen to the story, Barton.”_

“They’ll do that sometimes. Try to get personal.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this.” 

They continued on their way in silence. James lead her into the Academy. 

“See you tomorrow, Natalia.” He said by way of a goodnight. 

Natasha just nodded and headed down the halls to her quarters. The spy’s words were still echoing in her ears. 

—————————————

“He asked about your father?” Mistress Boreveya asked Natasha the next morning. They were sitting opposite each other, a desk between them. The older woman’s office was sparsely decorated; mostly cold metal filing cabinets and the knife proudly displayed on the wall behind her desk chair. 

Natasha just nodded. 

“Do you remember your father?” 

A flash of a man’s face entered her mind. Her father or the man that rescued her from the fire that burned her house down and killed her parents? 

“No. Sometimes…I think I can see his face, but I don’t think it’s him. I remember nothing about my life before the Academy.” 

“The Winter Soldier says you pulled the trigger.” 

“I did. He offered me the gun.”

“He also says you didn’t hesitate.” 

“When have I ever hesitated?” Natasha asked, arching an eye brow.

Boreveya smiled. It didn’t reach her eyes, making it look more like a grimace. “Never, Natalia. You can leave.” 

Natasha dipped her head and stood. She pushed her chair in. (Boreveya had drilled proper manners into the girls. How else could they pass for society ladies if the occasion arose?)

James was waiting for her in the hallway. “How was the mission report?”

“Fine.” She said as they headed to the mess hall. 

Everyone quieted down as the Winter Soldier entered the room. He appeared at meals pretty regularly, but his presence still set everyone on edge. The metal plates of his arm shifted as he took in the setting. Natalia knew exactly what was going through his head; she did the same thing every time she entered a room. 

One: Identify possible exits. (Do not count the way you entered) Two: Count the people in the room. Three: Assess their potential advantages (strength, height, concealed weapons, etc.) Four: Try to find weaknesses. Five: Look for possible weapons to use or that can be used against you. Six: Find a place to stand/sit near the closet exit. Keep either a) an actual weapon or b) a potential weapon next to you. Seven: Do not be afraid to fight your way out. Do not be afraid to kill. 

Natasha and James took their place at the end of the line to get breakfast. A warm plate of eggs, toast (buttered), and strawberries was handed to them. James nodded to Natasha and found a seat at abandoned table. Natasha sat next to Tatiana and a few other girls. 

“So, Natalia, what’s it like training with the Winter Soldier?” Petra asked. Her blonde hair fluttered in her face. 

“Intense.” Natasha replied, taking a bite of toast. Butter coated her upper lip. 

“That’s all you have to say? Tell us about the mission you went on!” Tatiana’s eyes lit up. She still had a yellowing bruise on her cheek. 

“I killed a spy for the Americans.”   
“Have to give them credit, they are nothing if not persistent.” Yekaterina shook her head. 

Natasha listened as the conversation turned to the current political situation. Listening was skill she had honed to perfection. 

As she did with every skill.


	4. Always in the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha receives her first real assignment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!

Training felt more tense than usual. As the girls lined up to begin their sparring session, Ivan and the other handlers there spoke in clipped voices and sharp commands. The girls performed perfectly. They were still said to have room for improvement. 

Natasha heard Ivan and another man, Dimitri, confer together in hushed whispers. 

“…No, he’s fine. But he got sloppy.” Ivan said. 

“Blame the Soldier. He’s the one in charge of them.” Dimitri shifted from foot to foot. Natasha titled her head to better hear their conversation. 

“He had nothing to do with this mission. Niko has always been…unstable.” 

“Still, he’s now the Soldier’s responsibility.” 

“Just like—Natalia, I believe it is time for you to demonstrate your skills.” Ivan glared pointedly at her. She nodded and stepped into the center of the floor. 

Tatiana dipped her head in acknowledgment to Natasha. The two girls circled each other, each looking for an opening. 

_”Is that all you did? Fight the other girls and sometimes train with Bucky?” Clint interrupted. He leaned his head against Natasha’s shoulder._

_“Yes, for awhile. I also took ballet, and they did allow me to go on some missions with James. You wanted the unabridged version of this story, right?” She said, lacing her fingers with his._

_”I guess I did. Wake me up if I start to snore.”_

Natasha ended the match when she pinned Tatiana to the ground, Natasha’s right arm pressed against the other girls’ windpipe. Standing, Natasha resumed her place in line. She didn’t offer to help Tatiana off the ground. 

__Morning passed as the girls fought one another. After a short lunch break, they were escorted to the theatre._ _

___“Hey Tasha, did you really fight each other outside in the dead of winter in nothing but shorts and a tank top?” Clint asked._ _ _

___”Yes, we did. There was a courtyard we always practiced in. We learned very quickly how to avoiding breaking a limb or getting a nasty bruise from landing too hard on the stones. Can I finish my story now?”_ _ _

__The girls quickly changed into their ballet outfits and arranged themselves on stage. They began to stretch and practice leaps or spins. Boreveya walked among them, occasionally pointing out what a girl was doing wrong with her form. Boreveya was especially picky about how the girls pointed their toes._ _

__“Line up, girls.” She said. They obeyed, feet pounding on the stage. “I have received word that an ambassador from America will be attending my show. It’s nothing more than a political move, and we are to show the Americans that we are not as dumb as they think we are. After the show, I will have one of you assassinate him.”_ _

__Natasha felt the glances thrown her way. The girls all knew who had become favored among them. Natasha ignored them and met Boreveya’s gaze._ _

__“Natalia. Demonstrate what we and the Winter Soldier have taught you. The ambassador will be here in two days’ time. Kill him. Now, form up girls.”_ _

__Natasha nodded and moved to her place onstage. She knew that the girls were beginning to envy her. Some had most likely moved from envy to hate. Let them. Natasha had tried to make friends with them, but friendships were discouraged in the academy. When the girls were younger, Boreveya would pit them against each other, making them fiercely competitive and unmerciful._ _

__Piano notes floated throughout the theatre as twenty-eight Red Room agents practiced their ballet._ _

__———————————_ _

__“Solo missions are a big show of trust on their part.” James handed Natasha her knife. She accepted it, idly flipping it in the air._ _

__“I doubt they _trust_ me. Trust isn’t really something we learn here.” _ _

__“They’re having you assassinate an ambassador. If not trust, certainly a big show of faith.”_ _

__“Well if the Americans wouldn’t always have to get involved in everything-“_ _

__“Hush, Natalia. No need to complain.”_ _

__“Who said I was complaining?” She muttered, sheathing her knife._ _

__“Just be careful what you say.”_ _

__“I always am, James.” Natasha replied. She exited the room as the clock chimed twelve, signaling lunch._ _

__———————————_ _

__A pleasant hum of chatter filled the theatre as Russia’s upper crust took their seats. Ladies arranged fur coats around their shoulders as gentlemen removed their gloves. A box was reserved for the American and his retinue._ _

__Natasha took a breath as she finished tying her pointe shoes. Her bag, which contained a change of clothes and her (borrowed) Glock, lay in her dressing room. Boreveya had promised Natasha a gun of her own if this mission was successful._ _

___If._ They all knew that Natasha wouldn’t fail. _ _

__“Form up, girls.” Mistress Boreveya said. She looked at Natasha. “You have your orders.”_ _

__She inclined her head and entered the stage. The theatre was dark, but Natasha could still make out the shadows of people. Her fellow agents posed around her, and then the lights came on, the music played, and the dance began._ _

__As she leapt across the stage, she eyed the ambassadors’ box. A balding man in his early thirties met her gaze. She didn’t look his way again._ _

__Breathing heavily, Natasha finally entered her final pose. As the piano notes faded to polite applause, the girls all stood in a line and curtseyed. The curtain fell in front of them. Natasha immediately ran for the dressing room, ripping off her ballet outfit as fast as possible._ _

__She shimmied into the stealth suit that Boreveya had let her borrow. The girls sometimes trained in the one piece outfits, in preparation for when they would one day go out on missions like this. Despite its appearance, the tight suit was actually rather comfortable. Natasha strapped on her thigh holster and slid the Glock into the sheath. She yanked her boots on, then pulled a fur cap over her head._ _

__Satisfied, Natasha left the theatre using the roof access door at the back of the dressing quarters. A crowd had formed outside the theatre. Quite a few of the gathered people most likely wanted to give the American a piece of their mind concerning his countries’ involvement in Russia’s politics. Why did America care so much about Russia’s government?_ _

__She began to jump across the rooftops, running as fast as she possibly could to reach the hotel before the ambassador. He would probably stay at the theatre for awhile, talking with the nobility. Her breath puffed out in a white mist as she rushed along Russia’s skyline._ _

__The hotel was just outside the Red Square. Eventually, Natasha stopped on the rooftop across from her target. The building practically screamed _weathly_ , with ornate wooden doors and gilded edges. It was ten stories high. The ambassador’s room had to be on the top floor. _ _

__Natasha cocked her head as she considered her possibilities. Climbing up the balconies would work, but she could be seen. Actually entering the hotel would be easiest. But she couldn’t just waltz into the front lobby in her stealth suit and a Glock strapped to her thigh._ _

__Sighing, Natasha shimmied down the drain pipe and landed on the snow with a soft thump. She kept to the shadows as she walked to the back of the hotel and began to judge her distances. The first balcony was about five feet off the ground. A trash can stood off to one side of the building. Natasha dragged the metal can close to the metal balcony._ _

__Turning it upside down, she climbed on top of the trash can and crouched, finding her balance on the wobbling can. She reached up, pushing off the can to reach the balcony. Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal, and she pulled herself up, swinging one leg onto the metal floor._ _

__With half her body on the balcony, and the other half curled around the top of handrail, she tried to gauge her next move. If she managed to step onto the handrail, she could slowly climb up the next balcony._ _

__It would be slow, but she would reach her target._ _

__After several long minutes (and one paralyzing moment when she thought a drunkard had spotted her), Natasha landed on the ambassador’s balcony. The glass door leading into the hotel room had a handle with a simple lock. She took a couple bobby pins out of her bun and set to work._ _

__The door popped open with a soft click. Natasha hurried inside, knowing she probably didn’t have much time left. She began to rifle through the room, looking for documents, anything that would detail the American’s plans._ _

__Her search turned up nothing. He probably traveled with any important documents, ensuring their safety._ _

__She had to admit, it was smart._ _

__Voices sounded in the hallway. Natasha darted back outside, closing the door behind her. She watched as the paunchy ambassador said goodnight to his guards, then let the door close. He dumped his coat on the bed and went to the bathroom._ _

__Natasha unholstered her Glock, waiting for the right moment. She opened the glass door just a crack. Once he reappeared, she would have a very limited amount of time to shoot him and make her escape. The door was locked, so it would slow the guards down. Whether they could break it down, Natasha wouldn’t stick around to find out._ _

__The ambassador walked into the room again, unbuttoning his shirt. Taking a breath, Natasha clicked the safety on her gun and threw the door open. The American looked up, shock registering on his features as he saw the girl pointing a weapon at him._ _

__Natasha had already taken aim. She fired. Blood spilled from the wound in the ambassador’s chest. He’d bleed out by the time his guards would find him. She could hear their shouting._ _

__Holstering her gun, Natasha climbed onto the handrail and lowered herself down. Her feet touched nothing but air for a few moments, and then she dropped onto the metal floor below. Going down was much faster than going up. She jumped off the last balcony and rolled into the snow. She kicked the trashcan aside and ran into the shadows of a nearby building._ _

__She climbed back up the same drainpipe she used earlier and made her way back to the Red Room._ _


	5. It's not separate from it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing your humanity means becoming a faceless monster; you become the monster parents warn their children about. 
> 
> Becoming a Red Room agent doesn't mean that kind of fate, does it?

Clint shifted, blinking awake. Natasha had also fallen asleep. His arms had encircled her sometime in the night, and she had curled against him. He swallowed, dismayed to find that his throat still felt scratchy. He slowly tried to remove his arms around the sleeping assassin. 

 

“Stay,” she murmured. Clint reached over and kissed her on the cheek. 

 

“I’ll be right back.” He said in her ear. He sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes and reached over to his nightstand. 

 

He gulped down his water, grateful for the relief to his throat. Natasha sighed, then sat up next to him. 

 

“Throat still bothering you?” 

 

He nodded. “I still just wanna stay in bed all day. Gives you a chance to finish your story.” 

 

She snorted. “When don’t you want to stay in bed all day? I’ll get us some breakfast. And don’t forget, you asked for this story.” 

 

He just rolled his eyes. 

 

———————————

 

Natasha placed their empty breakfast plates on her nightstand. 

 

“Thanks for the pancakes, Tash,” Clint sniffed. 

 

“Thank Rogers. He offered to make breakfast for everyone today.” 

 

“Good for him.” 

 

“So, ready for another day of listening to my sordid tale?” Natasha asked with a small smile. 

 

“Always.” He put his arms around her, and she leaned against his chest. 

 

———————————

 

 

Three months had passed since she’d assassinated the ambassador. News headlines had screamed for the Russian government to own up to the crime, but of course, they remained tight lipped, only saying that better security should have been provided for the American. 

 

In that time, Natasha grew accustomed to having the weight of her own Glock strapped to her thigh. Quite a few girls had acquired their own Glocks as well. 

 

In that three months, Natasha turned sixteen. 

 

Ivan had muttered a quiet “Happy Birthday” to her in passing. Boreveya had granted Natasha a quality leather knife sheath, something that every girl who turned sixteen got. 

 

Natasha couldn’t say that she hated it, seeing as she’d never actually had a true birthday celebration. 

 

But she didn’t really think that normal sixteen year old girls received knives for their birthdays. 

 

“Happy birthday, Natalia.” James said when she entered the training room. 

 

“Thanks, James,” came the curt reply. 

 

“What’s wrong?” He asked as she brushed past him. 

 

“I’m really not in the mood for another philosophy discussion. Let’s just start, shall we?” Natasha took her place in the center of the room. 

 

“If it makes you feel any better, they don’t celebrate my birthday,” he said softly. 

 

She blinked. “Really?” 

 

“I don’t even know when my birthday is.” 

 

“Afraid you’ll get a knife as a present?” She retorted. 

 

“You don’t get it, do you?” James stalked toward her, angry. She swallowed. “I don’t know if James is my real name. I don’t know how I got here. Sometimes…you know what, it doesn’t matter. You still have a shred of humanity, Natalia. You have your real name. You have a birthday. You have everything I don’t. It’s not a secret to anyone here; you’ll be the greatest agent Russia has ever seen. Do not let your humanity go, Natalia. It’s not separate from what you do. You’re not some machine like I am.” His eyes bored into hers. 

 

Natasha allowed herself to feel in that moment. To feel compassion for the man before her. There was an anguish in his eyes. She has sensed it the first day they met, but she hadn’t sensed the depth of it. 

 

“James…I’m-“ 

 

“Don’t say it; you don’t mean it. At least you have the decency to want to say it.” James shook his head once, as if to clear it. “We’re not going to fight today. They’ve got something else planned for you girls.” He stepped away from Natasha. 

 

She stayed in her spot for a moment, angry that he elicited such an emotional reaction from her, and sad, because she realized that he was right. 

 

——————————————

 

_Cold._ Natasha’s teeth chattered in the frigid temperature. She should be grateful that they had at least dumped her outside; last time they did a survival exercise, they had locked the girls in their rooms for a week. No human contact, just a food tray shoved through the small metal flap in the door and a jug of water to follow. The food had to last for a whole day, as did the water. The only companion the girls had in their cells was a bucket to relieve themselves in. 

 

Some of the cell doors still had scratch marks from the ones who didn’t do so well in the confinement. 

 

But that had just been a preliminary test. Boreveya and the others had made it clear that if the girls didn’t figure out how to survive in the wilderness, they would die. No one would come rushing to their aid. 

 

Natasha didn’t know if any of the girls had been placed near her location. If she was being honest, she really didn’t care. 

 

She took in her surroundings: A line of trees stretched along the eastern side of her, while snow covered plains covered everything else. She had only her knife and a water skin to her name. Her clothing consisted of a short sleeved white T-shirt, thigh length shorts, white ankle length socks, and tennis shoes.

 

Unless she could manage to get a wolf’s pelt, she’d have to find other ways of keeping warm. A few ideas bounced around her head as she headed into the woods. Natasha marked the position of the sun overhead; it was slightly after mid-noon. She needed to find a somewhat dry place to sleep, and fast, before nightfall. Water was the least of her concerns. Holding a handful of snow and waiting for it to melt would work just fine. Warmth and protection from predators were the two most important things. 

 

Natasha allowed herself a grim smile as she realized that the other girls could also be predators. She knew they wouldn’t hesitate to kill one another if it meant a fire, or better yet, food. 

 

She unsheathed her knife as she entered the forest. She kept moving, stomping her feet and tapping her fingers to prevent her limbs from falling asleep. 

 

The sun had sunk low in the horizon when Natasha finally found a suitable place to build her shelter. A small clearing about eight feet wide and six feet across broke up the monotony of the nearly endless tree trunks parading across the forest floor. Seating her knife, she set to work on creating a snow cave. Hers would have to be rather small, just enough for her to have room to sleep and to build a fire.

 

Natasha finished building her shelter long after the sun had set. The moon had begun to rise as she began her hunt for firewood. She refused to let herself be scared of invisible predators, even though the smallest sound made her jump. Being scared would ensure her death, not her survival. 

 

And if there was one thing Natasha Romanoff was good at, it was surviving. 

 

A full moon provided enough wan light for Natasha to gather enough firewood. She retraced her imprints in the snow and crawled into her cave, packing some loose snow in the entrance to create a door. Using one of the sticks she’d found, she poked some holes in her door to allow for ventilation. 

She built her fire to the left of her little cave, then stacked the unused wood by the door. Belatedly, she realized she also needed to poke some holes in the roof so that the smoke from her fire wouldn’t suffocate her. She took an available stick and poked five holes in her domed roof. 

 

_ “I’ll kill them for what they did to you, Tasha.” Clint interrupted.  _

 

_ “Oh, they’ve paid for it already. I can skip ahead if you don’t want to hear anymore.” She replied.  _

 

_ “Hmph. Well, does anything exciting happen?”  _

 

_ “Not really. I hunted down food. I made myself a small bed out of animal hides. I only left my cave for firewood and food.”  _

 

_ “Yeah, I don’t think I can handle listening to that.”  _

 

_ “I don’t think I’d be able to handle telling you every detail.”  _

 

So the week passed. Natasha had curled up under her pelts to conserve her warmth. Despite her efforts, the tips of her fingers were frostbitten. 

 

She was startled out of her relative safety when someone began to push her snow door in. Clumsily, she unsheathed her knife and waved it in front of her, reluctant to leave the warmth of the pelts. 

 

A metal arm burst through the door in a shower of snow. The metals plates shifted as James appeared in the cave. 

 

“Natalia!” He said, eyes wide. She dropped her knife and jammed her hands back under the animal furs. 

 

“J-james.” She stuttered. He rushed to her, dropping to his knees beside her. 

 

“Natalia, look at me.” 

 

She did, her gaze slightly unfocused. Her skin had turned pale during her stay in the cave, and there wasn’t any color in her cheeks. 

 

“Nat, it’s over. You survived.”

 

“W-well of c-course I d-did.” She offered him a small smile. 

 

“Now’s not the time to be flippant,” he answered with his own smile. 

 

——————————————

 

Her hands encased in gloves, Natasha stood with the remaining twenty three girls in front of Ivan and Mistress Boreveya. 

 

“Well done, ladies. You have proven your worth to the Academy.” Ivan said. “It is unfortunate that we’ve lost five valuable agents; however, it means that they were breakable. Continue to prove that you are _unbreakable,_ ladies.” 

 

He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. They filed out, most of them heading back to the medical ward to treat various hurts. Natasha found herself behind Tatiana. The black haired girl had suffered a nasty laceration across her legs from a wolf that attacked her. 

 

Natasha had also noticed that many of the girls had come back with a harder gleam in their eye. She knew that some of them had committed murder during their week. This time, Natasha had been lucky to escape their notice. 

 

But luck would never stay at her side forever. 

 

And while James may have been right, that their humanity was not at all separate from what they were becoming, he could have also been very, very wrong. 

 

People with _humanity_ would never murder their comrades. They wouldn’t dump twenty-eight girls in the wilds of Russia and tell them to survive or die. 

 

Or, maybe _losing_ your humanity wasn’t separate from becoming an assassin. 

 

Natasha didn't relish the idea of figuring out the answer. 


	6. You'll Get Better

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Surviving on your own is something you just get better at with time

Natasha stared at the paper in front of her. A line of Japanese kanji marched across the page, ending in a half finished character. Out of everything taught in the Academy, language learning was obviously the most peaceful. (Except when girls would take to whispering to each other in _four_ languages, not just one.) However, Natasha was hardly focused on conjugating verbs.

 

_James._ She could still hear the concern in his voice when he found her huddled under the animal furs in her snow cave. And how could she forget the way he had held her? 

 

Frustrated with the turn her thoughts were taking, she picked up her pencil again and finished writing her verbs. 

 

Another month had passed since the girls were forced to survive in the wilds. Natasha had seen James exactly twice in the last three weeks. He claimed that the KGB were sending him on missions across the world, but Natasha didn’t quite believe him. (Then again, she never quite believed anyone.)   
  
_“Except for me, right Tash?” Clint asked._

 

_Natasha offered him a small smile. “You taught me to trust people, you know that.”_

 

_“Yeah, but you only_ really _trust me.”_

 

_“If I say yes will you let me continue with my story?”_

 

_“It’s the truth and you know it.”_

 

_She kissed him on his forehead. “Yes, Clint, I do.”_

 

James had become less and less verbal, offering only a few sentences when he spoke to her. She has noticed this the first day they met, but now, the haunted look in his eyes was far more prominent. 

 

With every bone in her body, she wished she didn’t care. _Concern_ didn’t register in her vocabulary; but here she sat, pining over the Winter Soldier instead of learning Japanese. 

 

Well, maybe not pining. Caring. Natasha almost shook her head in disbelief. The most dangerous assassin in (unrecorded) history, and she cared for him. And if the way he had called her ‘Nat’ was anything to go by, he cared for her too. No one called her ‘Nat.’ It was a nickname; something given out of affection. 

 

Taking a deep breath, she pushed those thought away. _Focus, Natasha. You’ll get better at this; pushing thoughts of affection out of your mind._

 

_———————————————_

 

James strolled through the training hall, causing the girls to pause in their various activities. Most of them had been practicing the many forms of martial arts, while a few girls clustered around the targets, throwing knives. Natasha had opted for the martial arts practice. Judo had quickly become her favorite, although she was partial to karate as well. 

The room stilled as they realized just who had breezed through the open doors. He stopped in an unoccupied corner, content to stand and watch. 

 

Slowly, the girls resumed their activities. Natasha glanced in his direction. He meet her gaze, lifting his chin slightly. 

 

_He’s testing me,_ she thought. He probably wanted to see if she had improved under his tutelage. 

 

“Hey, Yekaterina.” Natasha called to a brunette by the targets. She turned. 

 

“Natalia?” 

 

“Up for a sparring match?” 

 

Both girls knew they had no choice but to spar. Today, Ivan monitored them during practice, and although he had been known to be a slight bit more lenient than Boreveya, he wasn’t an idiot. He stopped whispering to James and straightened, looking expectant. 

 

Silence fell around the girls as they formed a circle around the sparring mat. 

 

“Always.” She strode to the mat, planting her feet in the center. Natasha did the same, sinking into a ready stance. 

 

“Begin,” Natasha said. James, she had noticed, tended to go straight for the offensive. Having a metal arm did greatly improve his chances of winning a fight. Natasha favored staying on the defensive, using the time to analyze her opponents fighting style, as well as seeking out potential weaknesses. 

 

Yekaterinastruck first, feigning to the right before going for Natasha’s left side. Natasha side stepped, dropping and kicking out at Yekaterina’s leg. The blonde haired girl fell, then turned it into a back handspring. Natasha stood up. Her opponent charged, going straight for Natasha’s chest. A properly placed punch to the sternum could kill her. Mind working quickly, Natasha sped through possible evasion techniques. Planting her feet, Natasha waited for Yekaterina to approach. As soon as she did, Natasha ducked slightly and grabbed the other girls arm, using her momentum against her. Natasha and Yekaterina whirled around. Natasha still had a hold of Yekaterina’s arm, so she twisted it. As the blonde went down, Natasha followed, using her free hand to complete her turn. She wrapped her thighs around Yekaterina’s throat. 

 

Yekaterina struggled against Natasha’s hold, but the red head held on tight. Gasping, Yekaterina banged her hand on the mat, signaling the end of the fight. Natasha released her, helping her up. 

 

The girls nodded to one another, Yekaterina rubbing at her throat. The circle of female agents dispersed, whispers flying between them.

 

Natasha glanced at James. His lips twitched upward, and Natasha felt a warm glow of pride steal over her. 

 

Ivan nodded at her as well, pleased by her performance. 

 

James approached her, a faint whir coming from his metal arm. 

 

“Can I speak with you privately, Natalia?” 

 

She just nodded and followed him out into the hallway. 

 

“You did well in there.” He said without preamble. 

 

“I could’ve done better.” 

 

“Well, it’s not your fault you didn’t have a better opponent.”   
  
Natasha smiled at that. 

 

“Boreveya and the others feel that…you’ve learned all that you can from me.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he said that, instead staring at the wall behind her head. Natasha narrowed her eyes. 

 

“Liar.” 

 

“Natalia…Nat…don’t.” 

 

She reached out, placing a hand on his right arm. “James…tell me why you’re leaving.” 

 

“They all know that I’ve acquired a personal stake in this arrangement. And you have too.” He gently extracted his arm from her light hold. “You’ll do fine on your own, Natalia.” 

 

James walked away, his footsteps echoing softly around the hallway.

 

——————————-

 

Natasha sighed. “I didn’t see him for another five years.”   
  
“Why so long?” Clint asked before taking a sip of coffee. 

 

“I didn’t know it at the time, but they were keeping him on the ice. He had extended his usefulness for the time being. He actually trained me during my time in the KGB as well.” 

 

“You certainly spent a lot of time with him.”   
  
She raised an eyebrow. “Clint Barton, are you jealous about something that happened a long time ago? I love _you._ ” 

 

“I’m not jealous,” he muttered, taking another sip of coffee. 

 

“Oh, really?” 

 

“Yes.” He put his coffee mug down on the nightstand, leaned over, and kissed Natasha. 

 

 


	7. We need to mingle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five years after the Red Room, Natasha is ready to prove herself as an agent of the KGB-with a little help from a certain soldier of winter

"So after many long and arduous years spent in the Red Room, I graduated." Natasha sighed, closing her eyes as harsh memories crashed around her. 

"I know what happened then, Tash. You don't need to tell me again.” Clint replied before blowing his nose. 

“Thanks.” 

———————————

Natasha straightened her glittering red dress as she stepped into the ballroom. French socialites flitted about in a sea of color and bright light from the chandeliers hanging above the dancers. Music floated from the back lefthand corner of the room, while tables filled with hors d’overs lined the right side of the room. Fainting couches dotted the edges of the room as well, where mothers watched their daughters dance awkwardly with potential suitors. 

The KGB had sent their newest operative to gather intel on a displaced French noble. Although stripped of his title, he still wielded enough influence to retain a large group of supporters for his cause. As the French government was once again in upheaval, he planned to bid for the position of Prime Minister. Should he be deemed a threat, it would be up to Natasha to eliminate him.

"Excuse me, Mademoiselle, are you here without an escort?" A male voice said behind her. Natasha froze for just a moment; that voice sounded familiar. She turned, eyes going wide as the Winter Soldier stood behind her. 

"I am, Monsieur." She replied in perfect French. James wore a tailored suit with gloves covering his hands. He looped his right arm through her left one. "James? How...what are you doing here?" She asked in an undertone. 

"A lady of stature doesn't go to a ball like this unaccompanied." He whispered back. 

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Natalia, I'll explain later, alright? Right now, we need to mingle. Get close to Carpentier. Make him think we’re supporters of his. Isn’t that right, mon amour?” James raised his voice as a group of women passed by. 

Natasha blinked, then nodded.

James led her to the dance floor, where they swayed to the music in time with the other couples. 

“Told you all that dance practice would pay off.” She whispered to him, smiling ever so slightly. 

“What, you going to pirouette in front of everyone?” He answered with his own small smile. 

“If it’ll get Carpentier to talk, then yes.” 

For the life of him, James couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.  
Once the song ended, they edged off the dance floor by unspoken consent. Carpentier had set himself up on one of the couches, a young lady posing by his side. She had her hand twined with his, her brown eyes never leaving his face. Carpentier, on the other hand, hardly paid her any mind. 

“…Dubois, you know I could never thank you for all you’ve done.” Carpentier was saying, nodding graciously at a short blond man. Dubois dipped his head. 

Natasha’s lips barely moved as she leaned over to James. “Matthias Dubois, ardent supporter of Carpentier. Best of friends. In fact, they’re actually half brothers, but I doubt that the majority of the gentry know that.”  
p  
James looked at her. “I read the same files you did, Nat.” 

“I didn’t find that out by reading some file. They had me research Carpentier, as well as his prominent supporters. I essentially created a file for them to read.”

“Oh.” 

“I can’t believe Gerard is holding an audience in such a public place, can you?” A squat woman said to Natasha and James. Her breath smelled of wine, and she wobbled on her feet, her overgrown bosom threatening to escape from the confines of her bright yellow dress.

“It truly is an act of defiance.” Natasha replied. 

The woman winked. “Not like anything’ll happen to him. He’s practically the Prime Minister already-Oh, Jean-Pascal, darling, over here! Oh, how are you?” She tottered off across the hall. 

James shook his head. Natasha ignored him and politely pushed her way through the crowd, until they were right in front of Carpentier. 

A displaced earl, as well as rightful inheritor of his father’s land, Gerard Carpentier exuded the entitled noble. His blue eyes glittered as he surveyed those gathered around him, and judging by his slight smirk, he knew he was borderline committing treason. 

“Monsieur Carpentier! May I have a moment of your time?” Natasha asked with a smile. The woman next to him frown downed at the spy. 

“Yes, Mademoiselle. I’m afraid I don’t recall your name. Have we met before?” Carpentier leaned forward slightly. James stiffened, and Natasha swore she could hear the metal plates in his arm shifting. 

“Ah, no, we have not. Elisa Neri, and my betrothed, Fredric Descombes.” Natasha slid into a curtsey. “We heard you would be here tonight, and thought we would take the chance to ask about your…ah, political endeavors.” 

“A proud lady you have found, Monsieur Descombes!” Carpentier laughed. “Ask, then.” 

“We have yet, good sir, to hear about your loyalties? I mean no disrespect; however, we have strong ties to many powerful people, and I know that they-and we as well-would like to know where you stand.” James asked. Natasha bit her tongue. James was definitely not meant for undercover ops; he phrased his questions too boldly. 

Carpentier, however, seemed to like that. “A good question, if not rather audacious. What answer would you like to hear? That I don’t lie either way? Or that I am loyal only to my country? I thought the answer was rather obvious: I lie with France. She is a broken country, and it breaks my heart. No matter the connections you two have, do any of them truly want to see France restored? I can tell you that they do not. They only want to accept that France is still a country of wealth and isolationism. They ignore the disaster that is our government. I simply want to piece France back together, making it a stronger country than ever before in history.

“So, it’s a rather long winded answer to a long winded question. And I hope everyone here is listening. My loyalties have always been with France, and there they shall belong.” 

“Thank you, Monsieur.” Natasha curtsied again. The crowd behind her had begun whispering among one another. 

“A pleasure, Mademoiselle Neri, Monsieur Descombes.” 

James and Natasha exited the crowd as they erupted into another rowdy discussion. 

“The man is insane.” She said once they had left the ballroom. Night had fully descended around France, the city becoming a miniature constellation of lights to mirror the stars above. 

“How did they say we should eliminate him?” James asked, leading her around the corner of the building. 

“They didn’t. Said it was up to me. I didn’t want to make this a messy affair, so I decided on poison. Although, I toyed with the idea of using my garrote wire. You have to admit, there is a certain poetry to nearly beheading a French noble.” 

“Doesn’t he have men to check his food and drink before he eats?” 

“Yes, but don’t those men leave him to eat in peace after the food is declared safe?” She smirked. “This way.” She lead him down the street until the reached the yawning mouth of an alleyway. 

“Turn around.” 

James eyed her for a moment, then obeyed. Natasha reached behind a trash can, grabbing the black duffel bag she had left there earlier that night. She retrieved her cat suit from the bag, then shimmied out of her dress and quickly put her suit on. 

“You’re good.” 

Natasha slung the bag over her shoulder and looked up at him. “You can head back to headquarters if you want to. I’ll be back before dawn.”  
“I can’t do that. They sent me to watch you.” 

“Course they did,” she muttered. 

“Just like the Red Room all over again, huh?” 

“Hmph.” 

—————————————

The moon had just started to set when Natasha first heard Carpentier’s cries of anguish. 

“Oh, the seizures have started. He won’t last the morning.” She said to James as they loitered near the man’s estate. The fool always slept with a window open, and the two spies had found the perfect tree to climb and wait for their target to fall into their trap. 

“You’ll make a great agent, Natalia.” James said as they climbed down the tree. 

“Thanks, James.” 

They walked in silence for a time. Abruptly, James stopped and turned to her. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then thought better of it and closed his lips. Instead of trying to start again, he placed his hands on her cheeks and kissed her. 

Natasha stood their shocked for a moment, then returned his kiss, her hands on his chest. She couldn’t think beyond the feel of his mouth against hers. 

James eventually pulled away, his eyes searching her face for the slightest hint of displeasure. “Nat, I don’t-“

“Hush. I’m glad you did.” 

He smiled then, a genuine one. “You know, I think we can keep this out of our mission report.” 

“I’m pretty sure I can forget to mention it.” 

They walked in silence for a time, hand in hand until they approached the extraction point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Super long chapter this time! Hopefully, now that I've really started to get the feel of this story, the rest of the chapters will be longer. Writing about the Red Room felt very restrictive in terms of what the characters could and couldn't do, so it's nice to have the freedom of writing about something other than training. And as I'm sure you've noticed, this is definitely a boderline AU. So anyway, thank you all so much for reading my story!


	8. Solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So just how did Natasha receive her title as the Black Widow?

"Are you feeling any better?" Natasha asked Clint, who was wiping his nose with a tissue.

“Not really. Think I’m gonna be bedridden for the rest of the week,” he replied with a straight face.

Natasha smiled, then leaned in close so she could whisper in his ear. “And you know what I think?”

He swallowed. “What?”

“You’re a liar.”

He started to laugh. “I do feel better. But I would still love to hear the rest of your story.”

Natasha laid her head down in his lap. “Of course I’ll finish it. But since you’re feeling so much better, you get to make us lunch today.”

“Anything you say, Tasha.”

———————————————

Natasha threw her duffel bag down on her bed, fighting the urge to collapse herself. The KGB had made sure to fully utilize Natasha’s talents. She’d only been back to Russia once within the last three months. Assassinations in both Spain and Italy, and a rather long trip to Britain solely for the purpose of intel gathering.

She unzipped her bag and began to empty its contents. Weapons were staring to pile on the bed when footsteps sounded in the hallway. Dropping the knife in her hand, she turned to face the door. Her handlers were gruff, to say the least, and Natasha was careful to never set them off.

But instead of a handler appearing in her doorway, James appeared. He stepped into her room, shutting the door softly behind him. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything before he kissed her.

Natasha pulled away slightly to look at him. “Missed you too.”

“How long are you staying here?”

“I’m not sure. I wasn’t assigned anything after I gave my mission report.”

James nodded and stepped away from Natasha to pick up one of the weapons piled on her bed. The tactical knife he held up was custom made for KGB agents, since it could also be used as a throwing knife. Natasha rather liked using those knives, although for most of her assassinations, she had been required to use her guns. While effective, they lacked the personal touch a knife could bring.

“Ever change the way you grip a knife?” He asked.

“I grip a knife just fine,” she said with a small smile.

James just shook his head and replaced the knife. “I have to leave. I’ll try and return tonight.”

“I highly doubt they’ll let you just walk into my rooms.”

He smirked, and Natasha could tell he’d already arrived to a solution. “You’re not the only one who can sneak around the place.”

—————————————————

So it became a routine between them. They’d train together during the day, as much as the handlers would let them be around each other. Then, long after dinner and the KGB agents had been sequestered in their quarters for the night, James would manage to sneak out and visit Natasha.

Nothing happened between them; it was mainly Natasha curling up against him as they fell asleep to the rhythm of each other’s breathing. Some nights, they would whisper quietly, talk about the years they’d spent apart.

Of course, there would be weeks when they couldn’t spend their nights together. Natasha would be sent away to America or China or wherever the KGB needed information and an assassination. Or it would be James who had to leave, but he never told her where or why. And she refrained from asking him about the cold, haunted look in his eyes when he came back.

They hadn’t gone out on a mission together since France, six months ago. Natasha especially wished for a chance to do a job with him again. Her wish finally came true when she received the assignment for an intel gathering mission in Japan. James was to accompany her this time, and she couldn’t deny the thrill of excitement that went through her at the words.

“We leave in two days,” James told her the next morning during a break from sparring.

“Have you finished reading the file on our target?” She asked, retying her ponytail.

“Yes.”

Mr. Sasori Kirigaya was a rising star in Japan, famous for his theatre roles. He had recently found his way onto the silver screen, and his films were getting recognition across the globe. Despite his glowing past of being raised in a loving family, the twenty year old had found himself tangled up with the Yakuza. Natasha, personally, didn’t quite understand why Russia would be bothered with the politics of Japan, but she wisely kept her questions to herself.

—————————

Natasha and James stepped into the theatre, immediately taking stock of their surroundings. Rows of seats were set up in an amphitheater style. People were milling around the seats, chatting with their family and friends. A few women flapped their lace fans delicately. The stage was covered with a curved roof supported with four nondescript pillars. The only decoration on the stage was the painting of the green pine tree on the back wall. No curtains or props were set up on either the stage central or along the wings.

She sniffed, detecting the faint scent of cypress. James lead them to their seats, situated throw row from the front. Soon after, the lights in the theatre dimmed, and the play began.

————————————————

Natasha found herself surreptitiously dabbing at her eyes after the play. While she couldn’t truly understand the pain the protagonist was going through, the emotion of the actors brought tears to her eyes.

Sasori played the part of a heartbroken son trying to cope with the unexpected death of his father. The tears hadn’t started until Sasori’s poem, in which he also began to weep. James placed a hand on her shoulder. She patted his hand, then stood. Emotions aside, they had a mission to carry out.

They exited the theatre along with the rest of the crowd. Natasha listened to the whispers around them; mostly exclamations about Sasori Kirigaya’s incredible acting. She smiled along with them as James guided her through the throng.

“Shame he won’t greet his fans after the show.” Natasha muttered to James in Russian.

“Meetings with dangerous men sure do get in the way.” He whispered back as they entered the car that would take them to their hotel.

————————————————

For all that Japan had to offer, Natasha found herself rather bored. During the day, James would take her sightseeing through Tokyo, although their destinations were limited to following Sasori as he went about his daily life. Nighttime found the Winter Soldier and Natasha Romanoff creeping through the city, listening in on Yakuza meetings and getting to know the inner workings of the gang.

Finally, after a week of this, she broke her rule of never asking questions.

“Why are we doing this?” She asked James as they ate breakfast in their hotel.

“Because we do what they tell us,” he replied.

“But what value does this hold for Russia? Who cared about some young actor tied up with the Japanese mob? He’s harmless.”

“Many harmless people are tied up with the KGB as well.”

“Most of them don’t know that.” She said before sipping at her tea. In fact, all of Russia had connections to the KGB whether they realized it or not. It was the organizations job to know the secrets of its country.

James smirked. “Tomorrow’s our last day here. You can get your answers when we return to Russia.”

She snorted. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

————————————

One rather long flight later, (made longer by the fact that she couldn’t risk showing James any affection whatsoever in case the flight staff reported it back to her handlers) they landed in Mother Russia.

Natasha and James were called into the chairmans’s office as soon as they entered headquarters.

Vladimir Aleksandrovich Kryuchov sat at a cherrywood desk, papers stacked neatly across the surface. Behind him stood a man Natasha hadn’t seen in nearly six years: Ivan Petrovitch.

“Natalia! You’ve grown into a fine young woman.” He smiled at her.

She returned the smile. “Thank you, Ivan.”

Vladimir waved a hand. “Romanova, after your latest mission, Ivan and I have reached a decision.”

A thousand thoughts flashed through Natasha’s head. Were they going to kill her? Station her somewhere?

He continued. “The highest marks in the Black Widow program, exceptional field skills. Never questions, never oversteps. And yet you’re still just an agent.”

She fought the urge to swallow. She glanced at Ivan, whose face was impassive. She didn’t risk a look at James.

“How can this be?” A solution seemed to present itself to him. “It seems we haven’t made your title formal. Welcome to the KGB, Black Widow.”

Natasha blinked in surprise. She looked first from Vladimir, then to Ivan.

“Congratulations, Natalia.” Ivan said.

“You passed your final test with high marks. Now, rest up. We’ll be needing you soon.”

Just like that, she was dismissed.

“Thank you, sir.” She dipped her head, then backed out of the door.

_Black Widow. I’m the Black Widow._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long everyone! Life's rather hectic right now. Also, I did my best to make sure that the Japanese theatre scenes were as accurate as possible; if there's anything I need to change, please do not hesitate to let me know


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